


Crimescene

by HeyCreena



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Present, Chaos Christmas, Drabble, I mean people, Jim loves giving presents, M/M, Merry Christmas from our Consulting Husbands, POV Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran is shooting things, did I mention Christmas?, guess who's back?, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyCreena/pseuds/HeyCreena
Summary: It's Christmas eve and Jim Moriarty returns to London with a present.





	Crimescene

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote this real quick with a glass of wine (if you find any errors) for the MorMor Christmas prompt. Just a short little drabble, nothing fancy. 
> 
> Happy Christmas you guys! 
> 
> <3

He aims. A smile appears on my lips. (Focused. I know what I pay for. I get what I pay for. You.) 

The last target tumbles (a look of shocked surprise on his face, like the other ones) - a killshot. (It's always a pleasure to watch you.) 

He falls. Blood is running from his head (Deja-vu, don't get sentimental now, Moriarty. That was a decent, simple job, Moran.) 

I can see him relaxe, the tension disappears. A tiny smile appears on his lips. (Not relaxed, hyped. Empowered. Aroused.)

"Dead." he says, nonchalantly through the head piece.

A smile appears on my own lips. (Job onehundredfortyfive. I love numbers. We should celebrate. I've got a nice bottle of red wine back home.)

"Good. Well done." (My answer. He mustn't hear the pride in my voice. Still, I'm his boss.)

"Can I move?" (he asks, slightly out of breath. He knows I'm watching, waiting.)

A look at the screen, the last man is clearly dead. Headshot. I get what I pay for. (A beautiful mess. Chaos.) 

A few people gathered around him. (Ambulance most likely on its way. Deadline. Literally.)

"Go." (My voice is calm, sure, certain. Anticipation runs through my blood, but I stay cool. Years of experience.)

He moves, quickly, through the shadows. Dissappears in the night of London. 

For a minute I watch the dead man and his helping, desperate companions. (Too late. Too sad. Oh well.)

"Go." (The driver obeys. Instantly.)

The black car moves swiftly through the empty streets, into a dark side street of the financial district.

"Good Job." (No emotions. Just a job. I pay him for this. Still, I know he's good. The best.) 

He let's himself down next to me. (My eyes fixed on my mobile phone.) 

Silence. 

The car drives through the empty and busy streets of London, back home. (No one cares. The city was waiting for me. Waiting for more chaos.) 

"...that was a present, right?" (His voice is calm, though I can hear his excitement.) 

"Kinda." (Eyes still fixed in the screen. Busy. Always. Even on this day. Who cares about Christmas?) 

"For him?" (Ohh, Moran. You're too simple. Way too simple sometimes.) 

"Nope." I answer and put my phone down, as the car comes to a hold on Conduit Street. "For me." 

With a smile I leave the car and head into the apartment. (Obviously leaving you astonished. Why? You know. Or...should know me.) 

"For-" (I can't hear your words, the door closes, but I know you'll be there within seconds.) 

As soon as I set foot in the apartment I get rid of my suit jacket. Shoes. (Who needs them anyways?)  
The fire is still on. (Home. Back again, after our little adventure. I'm calm. Except for the fire that's still burning, for you. How poetic, Moriarty. Don't choke on your own tears.) 

I hear your footsteps while I'm opening the wine. (Calm. Relaxed. You know what you get, with me. At least now you do, after such a long time. Don't you, Moran?) 

"Five people dead. That wasn't a job." you say. (Ooh. Clever boy. I love it, when you get the point. Not that I care. Except... I do. Things have changed in the past years.) 

I stay silent. 

"It was a crime scene." (I nod, slowly. Good.) 

"For him." (Very good. Better.) 

"My way of saying Merry Christmas." (A tight smile appears upon my lips. The world needs to know I'm back. Jim Moriarty is home. Sherlock Holmes will have a very busy Christmas.) 

"...and for me." 

(Good boy. It's getting warmer.) 

"Hope you enjoyed our little...adventure. Being back... London." I reply. Sipping on the wine I opened (Handing you a glass, I know you need it. Alcohol calms your nerves. I can see you vibrating with energy.) 

"Much so." (I can see it Moran. You're more than pleased with yourself. Five minutes, five targets. A beautiful mess.) 

"You will get a proper reward for this..." I say and let my fingers wander across your chest, over your shirt. (Lean. Heartbeat too fast for your own good. Can I make it beat more faster? Sure I can.) 

"A lovely little crimescene for our favourite Detective, a big 'Merry Christmas' - we're back in town... And a gorgeous, and a - very soon very naked - Moriarty on Christmas eve. What more can I ask for?" you reply with a grin, before you pull me in for a kiss. 

(A lot, Moran. You can ask for everything. And I will give it to you.)


End file.
